Don Was
Don Was
Don Wasis an American musician, record producer and record executive. Primarily a bass player, Was led the 1980s funk rock band Was. In later years he produced songs and albums for a large number of popular recording artists. In 2012, he became president of jazz music label Blue Note Records...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionMusician
Date of Birth13 September 1952
CountryUnited States of America
sex media people
Capital burns off the nuance in a culture. Foreign investment, global markets, corporate acquisitions, the flow of information through transnational media, the attenuating influence of money that's electronic and sex that's cyberspaced, untouched money and computer-safe sex, the convergence of consumer desire--not that people want the same things, necessarily, but that they want the same range of choices.
cities air quality
In cities no one notices specific dying. Dying is a quality of the air. It's everywhere and nowhere.
writing said found
It was only when I found myself writing things I didn't realise I knew that I said, 'I'm a writer now.'
fall lines certain
It's healthier to reject certain cautions than fall in line.
narrative-structure vision way
True terror is a language and a vision. There is a deep narrative structure to terrorist acts, and they infiltrate and alter consciousness in ways that writers used to aspire to.
brain proud enough
I have only a bare working knowledge of the human brain but it's enough to make me proud to be an American.
past race people
People hurried past, the others of the street, endless anonymous, twenty-one lives per second, race-walking in their faces and pigments, sprays of fleetest being.
mean night past
In these night recitations we create a space between things as we felt them at the time and as we speak them now. This is the space reserved for irony, sympathy and fond amusement, the means by which we rescue ourselves from the past.
light talking sky
Her death would leave me scattered, talking to chairs and pillows. Don't let us die, I want to cry out to that fifth-century sky ablaze with mystery and spiral light. Let us both live forever, in sickness and health, feebleminded, doddering, toothless, liver-spotted, dim-sighted, hallucinating. Who decides these things? What is out there? Who are you?
ruins scales persistent
Out of some persistent sense of large-scale ruin, we kept inventing hope.
world unexpected abandoned
The world is full of abandoned meanings. In the commonplace I find unexpected themes and intensities.
thinking people brilliant
Brilliant people never think of the lives they smash, being brilliant.
running strong fall
Time seems to pass. The world happens, unrolling into moments, and you stop to glance at a spider pressed to its web. There is a quickness of light and a sense of things outlined precisely and streaks of running luster on the bay. You know more surely who you are on a strong bright day after a storm when the smallest falling leaf is stabbed with self-awareness. The wind makes a sound in the pines and the world comes into being, irreversibly, and the spider rides the wind-swayed web.
forever want stones
Ask yourself this question. Do we have to be humans forever? Consciousness is exhausted. Back now to inorganic matter. This is what we want. We want to be stones in a field.